


Fights are fleeting but baby we sure aren't

by nohbodyknows



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: College, F slur, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, Post-Squip, fight, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 11:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohbodyknows/pseuds/nohbodyknows
Summary: Michael would do anything for Jeremy, even when his boyfriend won't do anything for himself. And Jeremy hates this.





	Fights are fleeting but baby we sure aren't

**Author's Note:**

> this is an apology piece for not updating my other fic I'm so sorry, I've been sitting in this one for awhile and I really like it

I look in the mirror of the shared dorm bathroom. My glasses are broken, glass cracked and frame bent. They sit askew on my face, distorting my vision. A deep purple bruise is forming around my right eye. A cut on my eyebrow threatens to spill blood.

Maybe he won't notice if I just- I bend the frames of the glasses back into shape, it hardly makes a difference. They sit titled on my nose, and the black eye speaks for itself. The bruise grows darker on my already dark skin. Yeah, there’s no way he won't notice.   
  
A stall opens behind me. Through the mirror I see it’s Rich. He takes the sink next to mine. “Damn. Should I see the other guy?” He laughs halfheartedly. He always had a habit of trying to make light of a shitty situation.

“The other guy has a broken nose. And a shitty uppercut.”

He shakes his head. “Does Jeremy know?”

“No. Not yet.”

He pats my shoulder. “Good luck, buddy.” He turns to leave, stopping at the door for one last piece of advice. “Just, when you do tell him, try to get over it before you go to bed. Or give him space if he needs it. Don’t go to bed angry.”

“Yeah, whatever. Cliches are dumb and overused.” But Rich is gone and can't hear my amazing wisdom. I throw some water in my face and leave the bathroom.

When I reach my dorm, I can’t bring myself to open the door. I know the lecture I’m going to get, I know how mad he’s going to be. It takes ten minutes to gather up the courage to turn the doorknob and go in.

And there’s Jeremy, sitting on his bed, calculus textbook in his lap and pencil in his hand, tapping away at his thigh. Beautiful, with his acne and tired eyes, with his scars and bruises, absolutely breathtaking. He looks up at me with those sky blue eyes, expression shifting from joy to concern to anger all in the span of a second. He leaps off the bed and runs to me, holding my face in his hands. They’re cold, they’re always cold. The perfect balance to my constant warmth.

“You're fighting again aren't you?’

“No.”

“Then what the hell is this?” He takes his hands off my face to point angrily at my eye.

I shrug him off. “It was a one time thing, he deserved it anyway.”

“Did you throw the first punch?”

“He called us fags, Jeremy.’”

“That's not what I asked!” He shouts at me, a rare occurrence only saved for when I’ve really upset him.

I lean against the door and throw my hands up in surrender. “Yes, I did.”

“Jesus, Michael.” He sits on his bed and puts his head in his hands. “I don't wanna go through this again.”

Suddenly I was furious. “Oh you don't wanna go through this again? You don't do anything! Did you just forget that while you sat all scared in your room I was the one who was going through all this for us?”

“For you Michael, for you. I didn't care what anyone said. I just wanted to go home and play video games.”

“You did too care, you cried about it every night, I was there. But instead of just lying there and letting you feel like crap and feeling sorry for yourself, I fought for you, for us” I take a step towards him and stare into his eyes. “You never do anything to stand up for yourself, Jeremy. You just lie there like a doormat and let people walk all over you, you deserve more than that, you know that? That’s why I’m out here, fighting for the both of us, cause God knows you’d never do the same for yourself.”

I know the second the words come out of my mouth that I hurt him. I could tell by the way his eyebrows scrunched up a bit more, his lower lip quivered, he tore at the skin by his fingernails. “At least I-I’m not going around picking fights w-with whoever pisses me off.”

“I’m not picking fights I-”

“You could’ve walked away right?” He shouts again.

I don’t want to answer. I know he's right.

“You could’ve just walked away, right Michael?” I’m a sucker for that calm pitiful voice.

“Yeah. I probably could’ve. It was just, he came up to me and kept going ‘Hey fag, where’s your boy toy?’ and I tried to ignore them, I did. I probably would’ve too if they weren’t making fun of you too.”

“What were they saying?”

I shake my head. “You don’t need to hear it. Trust me. It got to the point where he kept poking me and pushing me, so, I kinda just, snapped and punched him in the face.” I can’t look him in the eye.

“Did you get in trouble?”

“No, it was behind the dorms, no one saw. One of his friends ended up pulling him off me.” I look up at him. He’s still angry, he has every right to be, but his expression is now mixed with worry and concern.

He stands up and turns his back towards me. For a moment I think he’s going to kick me out for the night, but instead he walks towards the bedside drawer and pulls out one of my spare pairs of glasses. He takes the broken ones off my face and gently puts the new ones on. He holds my face in his hand for a moment, examining my eye. He shakes his head in disappointment, then sits down at the edge of his bed. I sit down on the edge of mine. The dorm is so small our knees are practically touching.

“I’m not mad that you defended yourself.”

“Ourselves.”

“Let me finish.” His tone forces me to look him in his eyes. “I’m mad that you got yourself in way more pain than you needed to. You didn’t have to go at him like that.”

There was something else he wanted to say. This isn’t the only thing he's mad about. I’ve known him long enough to tell when he’s hiding something.

“And?”

He looks down at his shaking fingers, still picking away at his cuticles I grab his hands gently to get him to stop. “And?”

He takes a shaky breath. “And I’m mad at myself because I know I’d never have the guts to do anything like that. I’d never stand up for myself the way that you do. Like you said, I’m a doormat.”

This is something he’d been mulling over for awhile. Since middle school. It’s true, Jeremy had never been the one to take a stand, not upfront, and rarely for himself.

“Jeremy, do you remember that time in eighth grade?”

“What time in eighth grade? There was kind of a lot.”

I laugh, “Yeah, there was. Do you remember my crying to you in the bathroom, after those jerks locked me in the locker room?”

What are you doing?

Why are you doing this?

  
“You like looking at boys so much why don't you just live in there”

They push me down, and shut the door. It locked behind them

No no no no no this can't be happening I bang on the door I shout and shout and shout but no one answers and I start to cry cause I can't fight myself out of this I'm stuck and crying and I just want to not be here I don't want to be I don't want to be anymore

The lights shut off, I'm too scared to move around to turn them back on

The bell rings, passing period

The bell rings, class is starting

I'm gonna be stuck here forever

Small tears prick at the corners of my eyes at the memory. Jeremy notices and wipes them away, being careful about my bruise.

“You were there for me. You found me, and you were there for me right after. Yeah, you didn’t go beat ‘em up for me, but you didn’t need to. You dealt with them the way you do best. You remember?”

He sniffles. “Yeah.”

“What’d you do to them, Jeremy?”

“I-I axe-bombed the hell out of them.” He manages a laugh at the memory of twelve-year-old boys rolling around on the floor to try and get the horrid smell of pubescent cologne out of their clothes.

“Yeah, you did, heh. And they never found out who did it.” We laugh together for awhile, then we find ourselves slipping into tears. It’s really a fine line between laughing and crying, smaller than you'd think. You're howling with laughter one minute, then laughter turns into loud ugly sobbing with smiles on our faces. Eventually the sobbing fades into silent tears and steady breaths.

“What I’m trying to say is that yeah, you might not physically fight back, but you’d defend the hell out of those you love.” I place a light kiss on his hands. “And that’s pretty damn admirable.”

He smiles. “Thanks. I’m sorry for getting so mad at you.”

“No, don’t be sorry. You have every right to be mad at me. I’m sorry for making you worry.” I take a minute to enjoy being here with him. Holding his hands in mine, foreheads almost touching. “Look, I can’t promise this won’t ever happen again. I can’t promise anything. But I will try to work on just letting things slide.”

“Thank you. I don’t wanna have to keep cleaning up after you. Speaking of which,” He leans over to the nightstand and grabs a tissue. With careful hands, he dabs it against my eyebrow. I can’t help but stare at his face while he   
  
I flinch when he dabs it against my eyebrow. The tissue comes back red with blood. I hadn’t realized I was bleeding. He hands me another tissue. “Here, hold this against it til it stops.”

I do as he says. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“I only do it cause no one else will. I'd pass you off in a heartbeat if I could.” He can't say it with a straight face. A slight giggle escapes from his lips.

“Well I'm only here cause you make good ramen.”

The giggle turns into a full laugh. “I still don't know how you manage to fuck it up everytime. It's literally just boiling water.”

“See, that's where I get lost. I got a C in chemistry, I don't know how to boil water.”

He laughs and touches his forehead to mine. “You're such a nerd.”

“But I'm your nerd, nerd.”

We stay this way for awhile. Calm, holding each other, touching each other. Not having to say a word cause we're just so content to simply exist in the same space together.

Jeremy looks at the clock. “It's almost two in the morning.”

I hum in acknowledgment, fearing that if I speak our precious little moment would be ruined.

“We should probably head to bed.”

“We're already in bed though.”  
He gives my hand a squeeze and let's out a breathy laugh. “You know what I mean. Come over here.”

Even though the bed is small and can barely one person, I crawl into his bed and let him drape the blanket over both of us. I close my eyes and relish in the feeling of the two of us. I can feel his soft breath tickle my skin. My dreary eyes watch his eyelashes flutter as he slowly drifts off to sleep. I follow soon after.

  
They say you should never go to bed angry. Lucky for us, I don't think we ever will. 


End file.
